Gray
by wielder of the wand
Summary: The world isn't black and white, and Harry is tired of seeing gray. Even worse... He can't cry.


Harry didn't know the last time he'd cried.

He vaguely remembered one day, far in the past, when his uncle, blast him, had smacked him around a bit for 'sniveling.'

He hadn't yet cried for Sirius.

Oh, he'd come quite close to crying, a few times; the night when Cedric died and his entire being felt shaky and weary and yet so restless. His eyes burned, his head ached, and his throat clogged with the desperate need to just lay down his head, close his eyes, and _weep._

The night at the Department of Mysteries, he had almost cried as well.

Sirius Black, best friend of the father he had never known, his last conceivable hope for a real _parent, _who could listen to him, have time for his awful mistakes and, well, _Voldy issues,_ because Mrs. Weasley had her own brood, and Remus was... different.

The moment he saw his beloved godfather fade, a look of perfect shock on his face, into a world no one could see, his heart had temporarily, abruptly stopped, and a knot forged its way into his stomach, up to his throat, and the only way to soothe it was to cry... And when he could not cry, he sobbed.

He heaved dry sobs, still tearless, but his heart was aching in a way that made it hard to breathe, and he could not see for the stinging in his eyes.

But still no tears would come.

Now, a year later, as he held Hermione and she cried, he felt like crying too. Not only because his surrogate sister was in pain, but because of his ever present need to break down. He needed the relief of showing how he felt, letting out everything he had ever bottled up and let sit and stew until it burst. And as Hermione wept, the dam broke, and he smiled through his tears.

Later, he would cry as Dumbledore lay, prone as a wooden board, spread-eagled with arms outstretched from his fall from the Astronomy tower. He would cry, for the loss he felt, a mentor gone, a leader vanquished, and yet, not defeated, because_ to the __well-organized mind, death was just the next great adventure._

He wondered, idly, if the afterlife had lemon drops.

He would, after his breakup with Ginny, reminisce, eyes wet, on the days that had been so much more simple, when his worries were about whether or not he would be bested by Dudley or Malfoy. He remembered when the thought of a loved ones' death was, somehow, someone else's tragedy, not his, even knowing his parents were murdered.

He would watch his best friend's retreating back, hear the words _your parents are dead,_ over and over and over again, hear Hermione's heartbroken cries of _''Ron! Ron! Come back, don't leave, it was the locket! Ron!'' _over and over until her voice broke, and she wept, and he felt the loss of his brother as the hot tears sprang to his eyes. He couldn't believe he had left. Not after all this time.

_He left?_ His mind wondered, bewildered. _Ron? _

_He left._

He would let tears run freely down his cheeks as he saw the casualties of the Battle of Hogwarts, as it would come to be called.

_George crying over his brother, Tonks and Moony together, even in death, hands almost touching, Severus Snape, looking searchingly into the eyes of a boy he despised, but seeing only his mother, eyes soft but growing dim until they saw no more, Colin Creevey, only 16, still looking innocent, even in death..._

_It's too much,_ his heart cried. _Too much sadness, sacrifice, pain..._

His eyes would be wet as he strides into the Forest, determined not to be defeated, but to die all the same...

_Does it hurt?_ He would ask, eyes searching his mothers, so very like his own, his godfathers, youthful and wise in a way they had never been in life, his father and Remus' for council and comfort the living weren't capable of giving...

_Quicker and easier than falling asleep. _

_Will you stay with me...?_

_Always._

_Until the end. _

The tears in his eyes, as he walked, invisible, surrounded by those he kept close to him even in death, were not his weakness, but his strength.

_Power the Dark Lord knows not..._

_Do you think the dead ever truly leave us?_

_The next great __adventure..._

He saw, in his minds eye, his body, carried out to where all would see it, mockingly, by Voldemort, could envision the cries of his friends and all who had had faith in him, and wished he could do something, anything, to tell them that he'd done it for them, that he loved them all so much his heart swelled and his throat caught. He saw Ginny, eyes ablaze, fighting along with Ron and Hermione until the Dark Lord was vanquished...

But for those who fought, their innocence, now lost, could never be replaced.

_We aren't children anymore,_ he thought. _The world is a different place when you grow up._

How he wished that, somehow, he could still see the world through the rose-tinted glass of childhood. How much simpler the world was, when it was divided into the Good and the Evil, Black and White, Good Guys and Death Eaters.

_But the world isn't black and white, _Harry thought. _The world is mostly gray._

If the world were black and white, Draco wouldn't have mixed loyalties, Fudge would be backing Dumbledore, and Peter would be purely evil. But the world wasn't black and white. As it was, Draco was_ clearly_ torn, Fudge was an idiot, Peter was simply a sniveling, dead coward, and Harry was just tired, tired of the confusion, the expectations, the _gray._

But hey. He was going to save the world anyway. As long as he could cry, every once in a while, he'd take it in gray.

Heck, he'd even take it in Slytherin Green.

* * *

><p>AN: Hey guys. This is my first fic... So... Yeah. Read and Review! Tell me what you think, even if it's harsh. No deliberate flames though, guys. Thank You!

P.S. Also, if anyone has any suggestions for a different title/summary, I'm really bad at those, so... help would be nice. Thanks!


End file.
